When faced with his wife’s infidelity, Colin (Ray Winstone) enlists his gang of aging pub-crawlers to kidnap, torture and (possibly) kill her younger lover. 44 Inch Chest takes the typical British gangster film and turns it into a David Mamet-ish character study, rife with clever dialogue and working-class ennui. Instead of action, we get tension, and a whole heck of a lot of it.

Established photographer/commercial director Malcolm Venville makes his feature debut here with the help of some fabulous friends -- Winstone is a rumbling volcano, and his motley crew (Ian McShane, Tom Wilkinson, Stephen Dillane, and John Hurt) help push the film from genre flick to art film

Director Venville has enjoyed a successful career in commercials and photography. His specialty -- creating slick, slightly menacing images of brooding masculinity -- are typically populated by chiseled athletes, dingy pool halls, fast cars, and hard drinks. A commercial series for Nike has the dark, edgy feel of an action thriller, and a recent book of his photo work focuses entirely on portraits of Mexican luchador wrestlers. This is a man who knows men. It makes sense, then, that his first feature is populated almost exclusively by them. The one woman in the film is only there to break a man’s heart, an act that sets a flood of violence (and male bonding) into motion.

Don’t, however, expect Guy Ritchie flash or Tarantino kitsch. 44 Inch Chest is alternately brutal and funny, but most of its emotion is simmering just below the surface. Venville is much more enamored of sharp-witted asides and atmospheric set pieces than in raw carnage; those expecting a fast-moving “dude” movie will be disappointed.

44 Inch Chest is about its look and its actors, and they’re some of the best. Venville enlists a crew of stellar UK stalwarts -- haggard vets who specialize in the world-weary tough-guy. The script might be heavy-handed at times, but every performance is pitch perfect. John Hurt is gleeful, doddering and foul-mouthed, Ian McShane icy and sly. Winstone’s Colin is a revelation anchoring the film’s somewhat shaky center, a seething, exhausted, wounded lion of a man.

Although the actual amount of punches thrown is minimal -- there is an old-fashioned kind of manhood at play here -- the furious cuckold seeking sweet revenge with the help of a few old friends is a great premise. Venville’s London is dirty, tough and wizened, just like his players. They’re old dogs with not much interest in new tricks. Fans of Deadwood will welcome the appearance of the great Ian McShane, whose Scottish growl sounds as if it’s emerging from a vat of butter and whose bemused poise is amazing fun to watch.

It’s also undeniably pleasant, in an era of delicate Robert Pattinson types, to watch a withered gang of old guys pick on Melvil Poupaud’s French pretty boy. As the willowy, handsome waiter who stole Colin’s girl, Poupaud spends most of the movie tied to a chair with a slow trickle of blood dripping from a broken nose. There are the classic setups -- the abandoned room in a lost, dreary bit of London, the swigging of many alcoholic beverages, the jovial locker room banter -- with a few hard punches and broken glass thrown in for good measure. Die Hard or Dirty Harry, this is not, but in its quiet way, 44 Inch Chest holds a menace all its own.